Not All That Comes Down Has Ever Gone Up
by treeflamingo
Summary: He would tuck these feelings away in a dry, cold corner of his heart – like storing the seeds of something beautiful – where they would neither germinate nor rot. KyouHaru, TamaHaru. Introspection. Spoilers up to ch 62.


As with all things of great importance, it had started small. First there was nothing. And then there was a detail, and another, and another until they had accumulated into a thin layer of dust in his mind. At the time, he hadn't even noticed them. Who notices when the bookshelf hasn't been dusted in a day? But now he can take a leisurely look back – review the catalog of incidents, of _minutiae_ – and there they all are: every droplet of water that fell into the bucket until they formed a cohesive body; every grain of rice added to the scale until it tipped south of balance; every straw that the camel didn't even notice on its back; every yen of interest added until finally there is more money in your trust fund than you opened it with.

It had started with her tenacity in paying her debt. She hadn't even tried to look for a way out of it. Hadn't even thought to try. He respected that.

And then there was the way she looked directly at him, like she expected to find on his face the truth that was absent from his words.

There was her habit of trying to understand people (who knew that one unassuming little girl could do for the twins what Tamaki could not?); her ability to understand that she couldn't understand a person, that she could _know_ and yet have absolutely no idea (how could she see all his facades and yet not see what they were hiding? Tamaki had him all figured out in a matter of weeks; saw through and beyond and behind all his strategies in a few days. Was it really more remarkable that she could recognize all his devices but not know how to dismantle them? What was truly remarkable was that when she did see past his masks, she saw things he didn't even know about himself. "You purposely act like an egoist, but since you're really not an egoist, it feels weird." "That's a rather interesting view" _… I didn't know that_.); her continuing to care even though she understood that she'd never understand ("Why did you join this club, anyway, senpai?" – as if she thought, eventually, if she got enough answers, she _might_ understand.)

(And when exactly had he started _wanting _her to understand? When had he started hoping she would be able to break down his wall? When had it become a conscious act of will to keep himself from lowering his defenses until somebody five-foot-nothing could see over? That, he did not know.)

Even her apathy – because it made the things she bothered to care about seem so much more important. ("You wouldn't do that, Kyouya-senpai. You won't get any merits from sleeping with me." Later: "What do you consider as merits, exactly? Money, or reputation? Or some specific kind of material gain? I do think that Tamaki-senpai feels he's benefitted from things even I consider irrelevant…" How much attention did she pay to this? To what everyone felt was important?)

The way she handled Kaoru, and then Hikaru. And Kasanoda. And all the gigging girls.

Kyouya took his glasses off and massaged the bridge of his nose. He closed his physics book. He was too preoccupied to do the homework anyway. He'd been staring at the same problem for ten minutes and still didn't even know what it was asking for.

He knew how he felt. He knew how it had happened. He knew that this emotion could get much, much bigger if left unchecked. (Unchecked? As if it were an infection to be erased with penicillin or some such cheap panacea. As if it were a _problem_.)

He knew she favored Tamaki, knew it probably better than she did, since he was watching her actions more carefully than she was. But she wasn't committed yet. At this point her preferences probably didn't matter. He could probably still win her, if he wanted her enough. He wasn't so attached to their current relationships that he dreaded the consequences if he failed. But, at this very moment…

He sighed and leaned back in his char, staring at the ceiling with fuzzy eyes. Tamaki loved her. Even if he was too scared and foolish to admit it yet. He loved her. He might never forgive Kyouya, if Kyouya took her. Like that night at the beach, when he had been ready to throttle Kyouya and he didn't even know what had happened.

Kyouya's eyes narrowed, and for a moment he was angry. Why should he have to cater to that's idiot's melodrama? Why should he have to concern himself with someone else's regrets? What about _his _regrets? _He _cared for her. _He _wanted her. Of this he was certain. How much would _he _regret it if he let things drift as they would and she ended up with Hikaru, or Tamaki, or (heaven forbid) she was wasted on some commoner?

He stared at the ceiling a while longer before closing his eyes.

"…not enough."

He wouldn't regret it enough. He didn't love her enough. Most importantly, he _did _love Tamaki enough. He was an irritating idiot, and very frequently a prohibitive thorn in Kyouya's side, but Tamaki was his first real friend. The first person to _see _him, the first person to treat him as an equal. His loyalty to Tamaki outweighed his loyalty to his own emotions.

"_You purposely act like an egoist, but since you're really not an egoist, it feels weird."_

He smirked.

"Ironic."

And then it was finished. This great and important thing he was feeling, this frightening, faintly glowing possibility that lay before him – it was ended. As far as he was concerned, she was Tamaki's, and he would craft no designs to gain the woman of a friend. He would tuck these feelings away in a dry, cold corner of his heart – like storing the seeds of something beautiful – where they would neither germinate nor rot. Where they would neither change nor make any difference. He would save them against the day that she was no longer Tamaki's.


End file.
